


The Wolf Waits Below, Hungry and Lonely

by maravilla



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Bisexuality, Brief Mention of the 1980s AIDS Crisis, Character Study, Coming Out, F/M, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexuality Crisis, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-12 20:58:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12968289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maravilla/pseuds/maravilla
Summary: A story told in two parts about Steve Harrington navigating his PTSD and his sexuality.





	1. Part I: Steve

**Author's Note:**

> I kept saying I wanted bisexual Steve next season so I decided to make it happen myself. This is a story told in two parts about Steve navigating his PTSD and his sexuality. It tackles some themes very personal to me and it was pretty emotional to write, and I really hope you enjoy.
> 
> I did research and I tried to make this accurate to 1984. Bisexual was a term that existed, but Steve, living in suburban Indiana, would likely not know this term, I don't think. He will do some research and figure it out in the next part, though. He uses the term "queer" to refer to himself several times in this piece, sometimes in a negative way, due to internalized homophobia. I don't know if I needed to tag homophobic language for that? I know some of us feel that term has been reclaimed and are cool with it, some don't like to use it, etc....but with the way it was used in the story I wasn't sure if it should be tagged or not. Also, I am aware that bisexuality isn't binary and never has been. Again, this is from the POV of someone from a small town in Indiana in 1984. Lastly, I also wanted to tackle the narrative that LGBT people "always know" because I think it's important to note that some of us don't realize our sexuality till later in life. That is sort of brought up here, but it'll be talked about more in the next part.
> 
> I'm not a Jancy shipper but their relationship is mentioned because this goes along with canon, more or less.

Every guy at the bar he’s ever asked has shrugged and said they’ve always known, and then brushed it off. You weren’t there to meet people, to form a relationship. You weren’t there to make small talk, you were there to fuck, to get each other off, and then to part ways forever.

* * *

Steve wipes his mouth, peering at his reflection in the grimy bathroom mirror tucked into the corner of a gay club in Indianapolis. He plants his hands on either side of the sink and breathes in and out, heavy and faster than he’d like. He’d like to think he was breathing evenly, calm, relaxed. But he can’t stop, he can’t stop –

His lips are swollen and his pupils are still the slightest bit dilated, and his hair is mussed up like he’d been running his hand through it in a nervous tic but fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ anybody who looked at him twice would know he’d just been sucking dick on the floor of the bathroom stall.

This is the first time he goes, the first time he’s made it further than sitting in his car, hands tapping on the steering wheel in an anxious pattern, and his expression is one of disbelief, and as he locks eyes with his mirror-self he can see the fear in his eyes. But he can also see something else – wonder, glorious wonder, and amazement, his suspicions confirmed.

He splashes water on his face and does his best to fix his hair into its previous fluffy state but it doesn’t come out quite the same.

His breathing is still heavy as he looks at himself again, righting his jacket and buttoning the buttons of his shirt back up. The other guy had left the second he’d spilled into Steve’s mouth and Steve had sucked right through his orgasm, drank his come and swallowed it all.

And the worst part was, he’d _liked_ it.

Fuck. Fuck.

 _“Fuck.”_  

* * *

He saunters back through the club toward the exit, running his hand through his hair to try and make the mess look deliberate, hitting sweaty bodies here and there as he goes.

“Hey, pretty boy,” a hand curls around his arm and Steve jerks away in surprise as he whirls around to find a much older, buffer man. No one seemed to notice that he looked exactly like he’d just had sex. Or if they did notice, they didn’t care.

“Not interested,” Steve mutters, shrugging the guy off and making a bee-line toward the door. As he nears the exit, he catches sight of the guy he’d been blowing just minutes ago, a drink in his hand as he dances with some other young thing, similar build and looks to Steve. He catches Steve’s eye over the other guy’s shoulder and winks.

_“I always sort of knew, I guess. Can we fuck now, please?”_

It echoes in his mind as he thrusts his hand out, pushing the door open with more fervor than necessary. He runs to his car, slams the door shut, and drives 90 the entire way back to Hawkins.

* * *

_I always sort of knew. I always sort of knew. I always sort of knew._

It plays over and over in Steve’s mind, reverberating throughout every part of his brain as he cuts the motor and locks the door, still playing in a sick mantra as he manually lifts the garage and prays to god no one can hear, repeating itself rhythmically to his careful steps as he slowly creeps in the garage door and up the stairs to his room, past his parents’ closed door.

 _God, if you only knew,_ Steve thinks. _If you only fucking knew where I’d been._

* * *

The thing is, Steve’s not stupid. He may not be very book smart, and he may hang out with a group of middle schoolers more often than not, but he’s not fucking stupid.

So, he knows that Dustin can tell something is up with him. He knows that he’s been acting on edge lately, he’s letting his nervous tics show, but _god,_ he’s so tired, and it’s so fucking hard to keep up a façade.

The nightmares started coming exactly a week after they’d fought the demogorgon the first time, the moment he’d gotten over the shock of what the fuck had happened. Nancy, shoving a gun in his face, blood trickling on the floor, goddamn _Jonathan Byers,_ swinging a bat filled with nails because his brain was working on autopilot, the little Byers kid being stuck in another fucking _dimension –_ well, it was a lot to handle.

A week after, the shock had worn off, and the nightmares had come. Great and terrible ones, where he hadn’t gone back in and Nancy and Jonathan died as he listened to their screams and cries for help from the safety of his car. Ones where he had gone back but he hadn’t been fast enough, and he was forced to watch as Nancy got eaten, her face mangled as blood dripped down her immobile body. Ones where they hadn’t extinguished the fire in time and he looked on helplessly as Jonathan screamed while his flesh slowly burned from his skin, sizzling in a sick taunt as the fire illuminated the now-dark hallway.

So, he didn’t sleep much.

Going back to school hadn’t been the fucking same. He had no desire to go back to his old group of friends, he _knew_ he had been a dick because it was comfortable, it was easy, and because no one tried to find out your secrets when you were the king of the school. Nothing was comfortable or easy anymore, so it didn’t fucking matter.

What he couldn’t reconcile was having no desire to have _any_ friends, not really. No one other than Nancy, than Jonathan, than those _fucking_ kids could understand what he’d gone through, what they’d all gone through, why he had a slight panic attack every time his own shaking hand lit up a cigarette, craving the nicotine to stop his racing thoughts but heart jolting at the sight of a flame.

Who could be friends with someone like that?

Nancy waits a month and they make up, and he knows, he _knows_ she wants Jonathan but he loves her and she’d come to Steve, so shouldn’t that be enough? He has someone by his side again, someone who gets it and understands, and he can throw himself into Nancy, into their social life, and he doesn’t have to think about anything more difficult than half-assing his college applications.

* * *

Halloween fucks everything up. The monsters come again, and he suddenly has a group of kids under his wing and he sees faceless creatures whenever he sleeps.

Dead Nancy. Dead Dustin. Dead Lucas, dead Max, dead Mike, boom boom boom boom boom, and it’s all because he hadn’t been fast enough, been strong enough, been good enough. He would try, swinging his bat and throwing himself in front of them, but it wasn’t enough. Never enough. Never enough. Not enough to stop the monsters from coming and attacking and opening up their faces and feeding.

* * *

Sometimes though, the nightmares come in different forms. He comes crawling back. Nancy isn’t gone that day he comes over with flowers, so Dustin doesn’t stop him, and he climbs up to her room as he’d gotten so well practiced at doing in the months they’d been together. _Together,_ god, together, bodies flush against each other, his hands ghosting over her curves and he loves her, he loves her.

He apologizes for how he’d treated her grief with Barb, he didn’t know how to deal, he’d never had to deal with tough emotions before and then he’d had his own trauma. And he maybe wasn’t understanding enough and he’s _sorry_ and he thought what he said was best and he was scared, he is scared, of what the government can do.

She takes him in her arms and he settles his head on her shoulders and cries and she rubs him gently and softly coos, “you’re so stupid, you’re so stupid, Steve Harrington,” as she ghosts her fingers up and down his back.

“I know, Nance,” he dejectedly whispers, smile playing at the edges of his lips. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

“You’re so stupid,” she continues, chuckling, making him chuckle too. He goes in for a kiss, and she changes. “You’re so stupid,” she growls, the pupils of her eyes bleeding out to fill the irises, the whites, until they’re deep black and he can see his own terrified expression staring back at him.

“What?” he asks, voice broken and desperate.

“You’re so stupid,” she says resolutely, “to think anybody could ever love somebody like you.”

* * *

It’s like this:

He loves Nancy. He loved Nancy. He loved Nancy? He loved (loves?) her enough to let her go. He knows this to be true.

So when the nightmares shift into something else, he can’t figure out why, why, _why,_ and he’d give about anything for the nightmares about the monsters to come back. The nightmares about Nancy to come back. About anything else to come fucking _back._

The monsters are replaced with faceless men, or men with faces he’s seen before but couldn’t place if you paid him, writhing against him as he sucks on their mouths, their necks, their cocks, all over their bodies.

Sometimes, he’s showering after a basketball game and next thing he knows him and the other guy in the shower are fucking against the wall, his head on the cool tile as the spray of the water ghosts over what parts of him aren’t covered by the other’s body.

Sometimes, he’s at a party and he’s sneaking up to a bedroom with some guy, both of them laughing and trying to quiet their drunken mouths so they don’t get caught before they’re safely locked in some stranger's room and their mouths are on each other the second the lock clicks.

Sometimes, he just finds himself there, in bed with another man.

It doesn’t really matter, because he wakes up the same way every time. Cock hard, leaking pre-come, body slick with sweat and he weakly rubs his hand up and down his shaft till he’s spilling, he’s spilling all over and all he can do is let out a sad and slightly hysterical, “what the fuck?” before he tries to fall back into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

He starts obsessing over his breakup with Nancy.

Is this why? She never gave him a reason, she told him he was bullshit.

Did she know? Did she know the whole time that he was a queer? This whole time he’d been convinced Jonathan was the reason they broke up, but maybe…

Maybe there’d been a grain of truth in her words. Maybe this whole fucking time he’d really been bullshit, and she was Nancy, perfect and smart, and wonderful, and he was Steve, who hadn’t ever submitted his college applications and was having wet dreams at the age of 18.

He runs everything over in his mind once, twice, one thousand fucking times. His mind flits around like some sort of blind fly, aimlessly racking through his brain, through every interaction he’d ever had in his life.

He’d never had a crush on a guy before, he’d always, _always_ liked girls. He did. He liked girls, and he’d slept with plenty before Nancy. And he _loved_ her. God, he loved her.

He knew that to be true.

But _now_ he couldn’t stop...he couldn’t stop…

He feels like his mind is on fucking overdrive and his eyes had developed some sort of sick superpower where all he can fucking see are guys. Every time he turns the corner, there was one against a locker, leaning up, talking to some girl. There was one bending over at the water fountain to get a drink. There was fucking _Jonathan_ with Nancy, arm slung around her shoulders and a soft smile on his face as he looks at her.

Steve thinks about it for a second. Walking down the hallway with a faceless guy, his arm over Steve’s shoulders as they walked to his car to share lunch. It could be nice, he thought. It could be…

Fuck _no._ It could be his fucking downfall. He liked girls and he _definitely_ liked girls and this whole thing was a fluke and he would put it out of his mind and it didn’t matter because he liked girls.

* * *

He couldn’t put it out of his mind. He had to know.

* * *

He finds himself in a gay club, tucked into a seedy part of Indianapolis one Saturday night. It didn’t fucking matter anymore, because he doesn’t have any friends his own age and no 13 year old is hanging out past 9pm on a weekend night. So he finds himself here, leaning up against the bar, beer in his hand like a fucking lifeline, and _god,_ he needs a cigarette.

He shudders. If he saw fire right now, he’d bolt. He’s had enough of burning things for a lifetime. If the first time in the Byers house hadn’t been enough, watching writhing fucking tentacles scream and squelch under flames as him and the kids scrambled to get out the tunnels in time certainly fucking was. Well, fuck. Just add it to the list of ongoing shit he sees whenever he closes his eyes.

He scans the club, taking it in, looking around, for someone he might find attractive, for someone he might know (run away immediately), for anything. He keeps an eye on the door because if the supernatural somehow followed him out here that would be just his fucking luck.

He’s surprised at the variety of men here, and he realizes he’s had the small-town stereotype of a queer sitting his head for ages. He thought he couldn’t be, he couldn’t be, he _couldn’t be_ queer. He liked girls, didn’t he? He played sports, he liked girls, he had guy friends, he _wasn’t._

But the men here, they were all different. They weren’t what he thought, effeminate and obvious. He wouldn’t know, wouldn’t guess, if they weren’t all here together, hiding in this shithole club.

“Hey,” someone says in his ear, an arm sneaking around his waist. “What’s a pretty boy like you looking for on a night like this?”

Steve looks up into the eyes of a slightly older man. He’s attractive, there’s no denying it. He’s tall and looks like something off a record cover, with his button down with all the buttons but one undone and tight jeans that show off his legs and his ass _real_ nice and a bandana tied around his head to keep his long hair out of his face. He’s dressed for the club. Steve still has his jacket on.

Steve shrugs.

“Depends who’s asking.”

He’s done this before, he’s done this a million times with girls and it shouldn’t be any different now, so why does it feel so fucking _difficult?_

“What’s in a name?” The guy winks. He’s right. What’s in a fucking name? He’s just here to see if the dreams are only dreams or not.

“Nothing, I guess,” he murmurs, eyes downcast in nervousness but he hopes the guy takes it as shy flirting. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

“Thought so. Can I get you something other than a beer?”

He shrugs again.

“Bourbon on the rocks,” he says, because that’s what his father drinks and former king of Hawkins or not, he doesn’t really know anything other than beer and shit drinks at parties.

The guy lets out a low whistle.

“Well, alright sweetheart.” He turns to the bartender. “A bourbon on the rocks for my new friend here.”

Steve downs it the second it’s in his hand. Liquid courage. The guy sips on his own drink in amusement, eyebrow quirking up.

“What do you say we go to the back and have some fun, huh?”


	2. Part II: Dustin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll notice some new character tags and tags in general. This part picks up more or less where the first part left off, but is told mostly from the POV of Dustin. Meh, I'm still not completely satisfied with the pacing and dialogue here but had to stop toying with it and just post.
> 
> Warning: Dustin catches Steve kissing another guy and therefore, Steve is sort of forced to come out? But beyond Steve and Dustin, he isn't forced out of the closet per se, so I didn't tag for it...let me know if you think I should?
> 
> Also, I mention a book and allude to some newspaper articles – all real! I did some research on what texts on bisexuality were published in 1984. Did not actually read those texts and cannot speak to if they're good or informative.
> 
> Again, I'm tackling a lot of very personal themes here, really hope you enjoy.

Steve Harrington doesn’t stop hanging around. Dustin can’t figure it out – he really thought that after they closed the gate things would go back to normal. Well, normal was a relative word. How normal could things be when you’d fucking killed monsters from another world? But, for all the regularity that had returned to their lives (school, Will,  _Eleven,_ D&D every Tuesday) he  _definitely_ didn’t expect Steve Harrington to keep hanging around.

The whole thing had been a fluke, anyway. Just when Dustin was desperate enough to try something fucking  _stupid,_ Steve had walked in like a beacon of light, or some shit. And then, curiously enough, the light hadn’t quite ever gone out.

He’s different, after the Mind Flayer attack. Quieter, jumpier, and softer somehow, but still with rough edges that can hurt if you don’t watch yourself. But all of his boyish obnoxiousness, immaturity, everything that had classified him as “that douche Steve Harrington”...it all seems to have vanished along with the Demogorgons.

They’re all different, but Steve sometimes seems like he’s trapped in his own Upside-Down, like he’s staring right through you to a completely different fucking plane.

He fidgets – his fingers are constantly drumming a beat on the countertop as he watches Dustin study, or his leg is bouncing while he waits for Dustin to meet him at his car after school, or he paces during any momentary lull. Dustin doesn’t bring any of this up. Steve has gone through just as much trauma as the rest of them, he deserves his quirks.

Steve helps him practice doing his hair before the Snow Ball, carefully combing his curls into a style that vaguely resembles his own, and sprays it within an inch of his life.

“Girls’ll like that,” he notes, nodding to Dustin as he examines himself in the mirror. “They can’t resist luscious locks.”

“Is that how you get so lucky?” Dustin jokes, turning around for a high five, stopping abruptly when he notices Steve staring at something intently behind Dustin’s back. He whips back around, but nothing is there. “Steve?”

“Huh?” Steve looks up sharply, broken out of his reverie. “Oh yeah, little dude,” he ruffles Dustin’s hair with a fond grin, quickly smoothing his curls back down although they hadn’t moved even a little thanks to his careful hairspraying. “Yeah, that’s how I get so lucky.”

He smiles, but something is off, like his skin is being stretched too tightly across his teeth, like someone is there, taking their fingers and pushing both sides of his lips up. It’s wrong, wrong on Steve’s handsome face, under his earnest eyes.

Must still be the breakup with Nancy.

* * *

Christmas comes and goes, and Steve is still hanging around. It’s a little bit sad, Dustin thinks, that this once King of Hawkins would now rather spend his afternoons building forts and playing D&D with a group of middle schoolers. He should get some friends his own age.

“Don’t you have any friends at school?” Dustin questions one afternoon on their ride home. They’ve already dropped Lucas and Max at the arcade and they’re heading to the Henderson’s to do some studying; Dustin has a science project and Steve is doing some math extra credit that he would almost rather fight another monster than work on.

“You don’t like it when I drive you home?” Steve shoots back, fixing Dustin with a scrutinizing stare, and turning the radio down. “‘Cause you can walk, Henderson.”

He slows the car down and makes to pull over but Dustin can see the light behind his eyes.

“Calm down, Harrington, you know I owe you my life for these rides,” he rolls his eyes while making a mock-bow from his seat.

“Damn straight,” Steve mutters, hand back on the radio dial, turning it back up. Dustin doesn’t sense any anger from him but – something’s there, something that has Steve tight-lipped all afternoon and declining his mother’s invitation for dinner.

“But I’m making meatloaf, Steven!” she insists, waving her spoon around, warmth in her eyes. “You love my meatloaf!”

“Nah, thanks Ms. H, but I should go,” he mumbles, grabbing his bag and throwing it over his shoulder before patting Dustin on the head. “Good luck on the science test, dude.”

He’s out the door before Dustin can even say goodbye.

* * *

It’s February and Dustin can’t figure out why Steve doesn’t have another girlfriend by now.

He knows that Steve has been obsessing over the breakup with Nancy as much as he wants to act like he’s cool with it, wondering if it was his fault or what he did or what was the breaking point, what he could have done to make her stay. He’s muttered as much to himself; sometimes, it seems like he doesn’t realize Dustin is there.

Dustin has watched him make efforts for a friendship with Nancy and Jonathan both, feeling like they’re the only people around his age in this town that could have any semblance of an idea how he felt.

You don’t have time to worry about third wheeling when your real worries lie somewhere much darker.

Dustin knows Steve has nightmares. They all have nightmares, and it’s not hard to miss the signs of crusties around his eyes, the way he’s a beat behind some mornings, stifling a yawn, or snapping at the kids unnecessarily.

Maybe he feels like he can’t have a girlfriend because they wouldn’t understand him completely, and Dustin does relate. She’d have to be a really cool girl. Someone you could trust. Someone you could tell about demogorgons, and someone who wouldn’t think it was weird that you kept a bat with nails in your trunk, someone who wouldn’t think it was weird that you slept with a nightlight and hung out with mostly middle schoolers.

* * *

“We gotta get Steve a girlfriend,” Dustin announces one afternoon in the basement of Mike’s house. “He deserves one.”

“Isn’t he still hung up on my sister?” Mike questions, pulling a face.

“He’s gotta be over that by now,” Lucas insists, “that’s ancient history.”

“If ancient history is 4 months,” Mike retorts.

“Nancy’s with my brother,” Will shrugs. “I don’t think it’d be weird for Steve to move on after 4 months.”

“That’s the thing,” Dustin says. “I think he _is_ over Nancy. He seems like he doesn’t care anymore. But I catch him sometimes, talking to himself, trying to figure out where he went wrong. And I think it’s because he doesn’t have anyone new to think about, so he’s fixating on old shit.”

“Are you sure he even _wants_  a girlfriend?” Max quips. “No sense into pushing him into something he doesn’t want.”

“Of course he wants a girlfriend,” insists Dustin. “What else would he want, a boyfriend?”

Max shrugs.

“Steve isn’t queer,” Dustin says.

Max shrugs again.

“I’m just saying, maybe he doesn’t want a girlfriend.”

“Yeah, but _maybe_ he does.”

“You guys don’t even _know_  any 18 year old girls –”

“We know Nancy, asshole!”

“Because  _that_ worked so well…”

“Why do you even care about Steve so much anyway?” Mike interrupts loudly, annoyed. He always gets twitchy around relationship talk, and Dustin knew he was upset that Eleven  _still_  wasn’t a part of their everyday lives. Mike sighs. “Come on, let’s do something productive and play a game or something instead of bullshitting about Harrington’s problems.”

There’s a mix of shrugging and following Mike out the door, but Max caught Dustin’s eye.

“I’m just  _saying,_ we should get him a girlfriend,” Dustin mumbles, traipsing out after the rest of the party.

* * *

The plan is a good one, in theory, but not very good in execution. As much as Dustin hates to admit it, they really don’t know any girls Steve’s age.

“You gotta get a girlfriend, man,” Dustin comments to Steve one day on their ride home.

“Jesus, Henderson, get out of my car,” is all Steve says, and this time, there is no light behind his eyes, there is no ghost of a joking grin, there’s just his tired, tired, sad eyes locked onto Dustin’s as he jerks the wheel and reaches over Dustin to open the passenger side. “Get out.”

“Son of a bitch, Steve!” Dustin yelps, protesting as Steve shoves him  _out, out, I said get out, Henderson._ “What the hell was that for?”

“If I let you stay in this car, you don’t make anymore comments about my relationships or lack thereof, got it, shithead?”

“Christ, Steve, yes, I’ve fucking got it.”

“Language,” Steve comments tiredly as he jerks the car back on the road and angrily punches the radio button. He looks so exhausted, his personality only half of what it once was, and Dustin can’t help but think he doesn’t deserve it.

None of them _deserve it,_ but fuck, something else is eating Steve. Something beyond what they’ve all got, afraid of bumps in the night and any errant scream they hear, terrified at any minute that they’ll turn around and a fucking demo-dog will be there, a mouth where its face should be and an ugly squelch that has all their stomachs turning and their feet pattering hard as they run away in terror.

Dustin is a smart kid though, and he’s been spending a lot of time with Steve. He laughs when he thinks about it. He was a last fucking resort and now he’s the main positive older male influence in Dustin’s life; god knows he doesn’t have  _that_  with his absentee son-of-a-bitch father. Dustin is pretty sure that Steve’s own father isn’t a very big presence in his son’s life either, if any of his errant comments are something to go by.

But if it’s not the demo-dogs, and it’s not his lack of friends, and it’s not not having a girlfriend, then what the  _fuck_  is going on?

* * *

“You ever get nightmares, dude?” Dustin asks, and it’s March.

Steve has told everyone that he didn’t get into any of the colleges he applied to but Dustin is starting to think he didn’t even apply. If there’s anything he learned, it’s that Steve doesn’t really like change. Change is difficult and it makes him think of more difficult things and more than once Dustin has watched Steve’s breathing get heavy, and his hands practically vibrate as he shoves a cigarette in his mouth before fumbling with his lighter once twice, seven times trying to force himself to deal with the flame before throwing it down on the ground in frustration.

“‘Course I do, idiot, we all fucking do,” Steve mutters, turning back to the English essay he’s working on. “You know, there’s no fucking point in me working on this shit. I graduate in 2 months and I’m not going to college.”

“Not even community college?” Dustin questions curiously.

“Maybe,” Steve comments absently, rubbing furiously at the paper with his eraser before starting a sentence again. He does this three times, pressing his pencil tip down harder each time until he finally breaks the tip with a resounding “fuck.”

“Here,” Dustin says, passing him a spare. “What do you dream about, when you get nightmares?”

“Uh, monsters,” he says, equally as absently but he’s trying. He’s trying, he’s trying to hide something and Dustin can pick up on his practiced nonchalance perfectly. It’s the same way he answers questions when his mom asks if kids still pick on him at school. It’s the same way he told Lucas and Mike it was cool that they were closer friends with each other than with him, all those months ago.

It felt like a fucking lifetime ago. Over a year ago now, actually, and none of them have learned to stop looking over their shoulders for whatever is next to come.

“Like, demo-dogs, or different monsters?” Dustin presses.

“Uh, like demo-whatevers, Henderson, why do you care? I’m sure we all get the same nightmares and I don’t think that’s going to stop anytime soon.”

“Sure,” Dustin allows, but he thinks about what is next to come and he wonders if it’s already gotten to Steve.

* * *

He understands in April.

He shouldn’t be out this late at all, which is what Steve will yell at him later, but him and Mike had gotten in a stupid fight and he’s biking home from the Wheeler house at 1:30 in the morning on a Saturday. He’s fine. El closed the gate, and he’s fine. He chants this to himself in a steady mantra as he takes a right. One right, one left. Another left. One more right. He’s almost home, almost home.

He hangs the second left and he’s biking as fast as he can, but he sees a familiar car pulled over on the side of the road, toward the wooded end of a cul-de-sac off the main road that was free from streetlights.

He squints. That’s...that’s...shit, that’s  _Steve’s_  car, and Dustin is going to lose his fucking shit if Steve has gotten into some sort of trouble. He drops his bike and runs over, flashlight still off in case there is a monster over there and it’s got  _Steve,_ fuck, the guy was like the older brother he’d never had and now he’s gonna fucking die, shit, shit,  _shit._

Dustin creeps up, holding his breath and slowly peers through the window, praying to god that he doesn’t see a mauled body with vines wrapped around it, contorted in an unnatural way and Steve’s face, unmoving and frozen in shock forever.

But that’s not what he sees at all. That’s not what he sees at all.

* * *

The windows are slightly fogged and Dustin knows now that’s not from some sort of writhing and sweating monster but from Steve’s own heavy breathing, heavy panting, residue slowly settling on the glass that’s gone cold in the night. Steve, Steve and some other...that’s some other  _guy._

Dustin’s first thought is that they’re fighting and  _shit,_  Steve is getting beat up again, and Dustin sure as fuck can’t save him and his heart is hammering in his chest. He looks closer, trying to get a better look, to figure it out who the fuck is bothering Steve in the middle of the night on a Saturday and he already has enough going on. But...that’s not what’s happening. No one is fighting, no one is fighting at all.

They aren’t fighting, they aren’t, they  _aren’t,_ they’re...they’re  _kissing;_ Steve is settled against the opposite window and the other guy’s back is to Dustin as he kneels over Steve’s body and they are  _kissing._

Dustin lets out a small noise of surprise, he can’t help it, and Steve’s eyes fly open, startled, wide, and frightened, and he’s shoving the other guy off of him and he’s yelling but Dustin can’t quite hear it through the window.

“...my fucking little brother,” Dustin eventually hears Steve say after time seems to pass in slow motion for a moment. The door on the other side must be cracked open now because the voices are carrying and Dustin can hear and he’s still planted exactly where he was, afraid to move because Steve seems so angry, so  _angry._

“What the fuck, man, you said we’d be fine here!” the other guy yells and Steve is out of the car and pacing now.

“Well, I didn’t fucking exactly expect a kid to be out wandering the streets of this deadbeat town at 2 in the goddamn morning!” Steve hisses. “Be fucking quiet before someone wakes up and just get  _out_  of here!”

“You expect me to walk?”

“I expect you to get a cab and get _lost,”_ Steve insists, and there must be some thinly-veiled fury in his eyes because the guy is hightailing it and Steve is coming around the car now and Dustin can feel his heart threatening to beat out of his chest.

“What the  _fuck,”_ Steve starts, voice shaking, and whether it’s out of fear or anger or embarrassment or all three Dustin doesn’t know, “are you playing at, Henderson?”

Dustin’s mouth opens and closes several times before he finds the courage to speak and when he does his voice is barely a whisper, he’s terrified, and suddenly he understands exactly what monsters have been haunting Steve.

“I – I thought – I thought –”

“You thought _what?”_  and Dustin has always thought of Steve as pretty mild-mannered, even when faced with near-death situations, and he can’t grasp the gravity of what’s going on now.

“I thought – I saw you c-car and thought – monsters –” he can’t form a coherent sentence because he’s scared, scared of Steve, for Steve, he doesn’t know.

“Well there’s no fucking monsters, Dustin,” he laughs bitterly and it sounds wrong coming from Steve’s mouth. “What the fuck are you  _doing_ out here?”

“Leaving Mike’s because we got in a f-fight,” he mumbles, and desperately wants to tell Steve that it’s fine, it’s  _okay,_  but he can’t because he doesn’t know how.

“Jesus,” Steve says, slightly hysterically, running a hand through his hair and pacing as he looks toward the sky, face screwed up in a plea, begging the moon in some sort of sick prayer. “Jesus Christ, just – get in, get the fuck in, you shouldn’t be out here on your own, throw your bike in the trunk and get the fuck in.”

They drive to Dustin’s house in silence and Steve doesn’t say another word and Dustin wants so badly to give him a hug, to tell him he doesn’t think of Steve any differently, that he really thought Steve had loved Nancy but it’s ok if he didn’t, and it’s  _okay,_ but when he opens his mouth Steve fixes him with a look so stony that he promptly shuts the fuck up and spends the ride looking out the window. All Steve does is pull up a little recklessly to the Henderson’s drive and reach over to unlock Dustin’s door without even looking at him. His eyes are a little crazed and his hair is messed up and with the light from the front porch, Dustin thinks he sees something wet on Steve’s face.

* * *

They don’t talk for a week.

Oh, Dustin tries, but Steve is fucking slick. Dustin goes over to the high school in the mornings sometimes and Steve’s car is already there, and he isn’t anywhere to be found. Sometimes, his car isn’t there at all. In the afternoons, no matter how fast Dustin runs, Steve’s car is always gone before he hits the parking lot.

Dustin cuts his last class of the day after a week of this bullshit, and that’s when Steve finds him, leaning up against his Beemer with his arms crossed and his eyes calculating.

Steve scoffs the minute he catches sight of Dustin and rolls his eyes, muttering absently to himself.

“The fuck do you want, Henderson?” Steve asks, and his voice comes out quieter, smaller than Dustin expected it to be.

He had been waiting for the loud and brash yelling of Saturday, of Steve shaking in rage and fury, but all he gets is a scared kid, fumbling as he pulls his cigarettes out of his pants, flicking his lighter just once before his hand gives out and he gives up and throws the cigarette on the ground in anger.

“A ride,” Dustin says, and Steve raises his eyebrows. “And to talk.”

Steve stares at him for a long moment, and Dustin holds his breath, fingers vaguely clenching around a spare candy bar he has in his pocket.

“Get in,” Steve motions with his head, and the second Dustin’s seatbelt is on they’re off, tearing out of the parking lot down the road.

* * *

Steve talks first, to Dustin’s surprise.

“It’s not what you –” he tries, starts, and stops himself. Evidently, he knows that Dustin isn’t that dumb.

“Son of a bitch, Harrington, I don’t care what it was or wasn’t!” Dustin finally exclaims after several more beats of silence, throwing his hands up. “I don’t give two shits who you kiss!”

The silence in the car is deafening until Steve lets out a breath Dustin thinks he must have been holding for months. His eyes widen and he nods kind of the way they did when Dustin told him that d’Art ate his cat and he wants to laugh at the sheer absurdity and  _why is he even thinking about this right now._

“Well, okay,” he says quietly.

“I’m serious, Harrington, I don’t give a shit. I thought you loved Nancy, but I guess not? Anyway –”

“I did love Nancy,” Steve bites out, tight-lipped and his eyes are dark again. His knuckles are turning white on the wheel. “That wasn’t a joke. I wouldn’t joke about that. Not about that, you understand?”

Dustin nods vigorously, and this time, in the daylight, Dustin can clearly see that Steve’s cheeks are wet again.

“So you’re not gay?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Steve says sadly, and that’s the last thing said until Steve pulls up to drop Dustin off.

“You called me your little brother,” Dustin notes as he gets out of the car.

“Well,” Steve says, a little bit of happiness returning to his face for the first time in  _months,_ and he winks, “yeah.”

* * *

He tries the Hawkins Library first, but of course there’s nothing. He can’t figure out where the books would be, anyway, and he certainly isn’t going to ask. No sense in getting rumors spread about _that_  curiosity door.

Dustin _begs_ Mike to steal from Nancy’s piggy bank again and Mike can’t figure out why he needs it so badly. He won’t tell him, because it’s not his secret to tell. He spends days carefully scouring his house, under his cushions, in the cracks behind the radiators, searching for any coins he can find. When he gets desperate, he asks Lucas for the hook-up to do some lawn mowing, and Lucas grumbles at Dustin for encroaching on his territory. When he finally explains that it’s not for the arcade, and just says it’s “something else important,” he relents, and just lets Dustin borrow some money.

It takes three weeks, but eventually he has enough to buy a round trip bus ticket to Indianapolis.

* * *

It’s been three weeks of careful, stilted conversations. Dustin doesn’t care, he’s only jumpy because he doesn’t want Steve to find out he’s about to take the bus to the city by himself because god knows he’d spring into protective mode immediately. Steve is having trouble. It’s like he’s there, but there’s some sort of screen in front of him, his presence coming out in a wispy fog, but most of it is held back, can't force itself through the tiny, tiny holes. He’s protecting himself. Dustin would never tell, it’s not his place, but Steve is scared and unsure.

 _“The Bisexual Option,”_  Dustin slams it down on the table after he finally makes his trip and gets Steve alone, and it makes Steve jump. “And, there’s more. I got two more books – older, but that one is the most recent one I could find – it’s 8 years old anyway – and I got, hold on –”

“Dude, is your mom home!?” Steve hisses, shoving the book away like it’s covered in the flames he’s so afraid of. “Hide this and shut the fuck up!”

“She’s not home, dumbass,” Dustin rolls his eyes and dives back into his backpack, plowing onward. “I got some newspaper archives here, there’s a bisexual women’s organization in, uh, Boston. And one in Chicago, I think, formed last year, let me see. There’s bisexual men, too! They’re organizing, you know? They exist. And they’re fighting, uh, something.” He checks his notes. “AIDS.”

“What is this?” Steve asks, curiously looking at the book but refusing to touch it.

“It’s a book. On uh, bisexuality?”

“Bisexuality,” Steve repeats, deadpan.

“Yeah,” Dustin says eagerly. “There’s a lot about it! So you know, people who like, uh, their gender. And then also other genders? There’s a scale, you know? Uh, the Kinsey scale?”

“Where the hell did you find all this?” Steve asks, running his hand through his hair and his eyes are wide and terrified, but excited too. Inquizitive. Interested. Careful.

“Uh, the university library in Indianapolis,” Dustin says sheepishly, having the good grace to look ashamed. “I checked Hawkins, but you know, they didn’t have the books, uh, yet. So.”

“And they just let you take these?”

“Well...no. They didn’t, you know, let me…in...a manner of speaking.”

“Christ, kid,” Steve rubs a tired hand over his eyes and he looks scared again, like it’s all registering.

“Steve,” Dustin says, short and to the point. “It’s not  _wrong._ You’re not wrong. Plenty of people out there like you.”

“Right,” he says, and he takes the books and the newspapers and shoves them in his bag. “Math worksheet now,” he says, and his voice is trembling to match his hand, the way he holds his pencil too tight and his leg doesn’t stop moving the entire time until Claudia comes home and exclaims over Steve and makes him a meatloaf because she hasn’t _seen you in so long, Steven, where have you been?_

And Steve lets out a shaky breath and he can do this, he can do this.

“Steve,” Dustin confronts him on his way out the door; the books on Steve’s back weighing down like a ton of bricks. “I would never tell, okay? Not even the party.”

He nods, so quick you'd miss it, and his face is full of relief, full of relief and Dustin wants to cry for him and give him a hug, but he knows his boundaries and settles for a punch on the shoulder instead.

* * *

“Everyone says they always know,” Steve comments one day while him and Dustin are taking a walk by the quarry. Brotherly bonding time as Dustin calls it. Avoiding math if you ask Steve.

“What?”

“You know, the guys in the uh, clubs,” Steve elaborates, watching as Dustin screws his face up and slaps his hands over his ears.

“Don’t wanna hear it, Harrington,” he says. “And for the record, I wouldn’t want to hear it if it was about girls, either, so I’m not being a dick.”

Steve rolls his eyes and smacks Dustin in the head.

“Chill out, I’m not talking about  _that,”_ Steve says. “Not to you.”

“Well, good.”

The lapse into silence for a while, comfortably walking in the spring air.

“I mean, if I ask when they figured it out, they say they always knew.”

“And?’

“And...I...didn’t?”

“You didn’t?” Dustin questions, curious. “When did you?”

“Guess about a month after we fought the demogorgons the second time,” he murmurs, squinting up at the sun and running his hand through his hair again. Nervous tic.

“Really? Why then? Got a crush on Hopper, Harrington?”

“Ew, Jesus  _no,”_ Steve insists. “Started having dreams. And I guess if I think about it, then maybe, like, okay. I can see it. But I didn’t realize it. I didn’t even consider it, and I’m an adult.”

Dustin doesn’t answer, doesn’t really know what to say.

“And it doesn’t help that I already feel...wrong.” Dustin opens his mouth but Steve beats him to it. “I know, kid, okay? I know. But all these guys, it’s just such a part of their identity, and that’s just. That’s not me, I guess. I like chicks, I like dudes, I like who I like, but I don’t want anything to change, now. I don’t want all gay friends now, I just want friends who understand me, and those people are kind of the same ones who fought monsters with me.”

His mouth quirks up at the end, and Dustin feels a flicker of hope.

“I don’t think that makes you a fake, or whatever you’re thinking,” he comments quietly, and it’s hard for him, but he knows that this moment doesn’t need any loud boisterousness. “I think...everybody is different, you know?”

“Thanks, kid,” Steve ruffles his hair, falls silent for a few minutes. “Race you back to my car!”

He takes off and Dustin struggles to catch up, yelling, “fuck you, you tall piece of shit,” as he goes, but he’s laughing, _Steve’s_ laughing, and that’s all he wants.

* * *

It’s May, and Steve is graduating. Dustin and Claudia are there, clapping harder than Steve’s own parents, and Dustin catches sight of Nancy in the crowd and winks, watching as she rolls her eyes back at him, but grins.

He’s going to a community college in Indianapolis, he’s getting his own apartment, he told Dustin.

“And I’ll still be back to check on you shitheads, you got it? Because we’re about due for some more freaky shit and no one is dying on my watch.”

“Yes, dad,” Dustin had rolled his eyes, but smiled fondly at the sentiment.

He had to go away, and figure out who he was, even if he didn’t think college was necessarily for him. Change was difficult, but maybe, just maybe, it’d be good to get away from the memories. Make some new ones. Process some shit. Dustin got it. Besides, Dustin had the party. Steve had Dustin.

“Hey,” he hears a voice from his left after the ceremony is over, and he and Claudia are milling around, trying to scope out the refreshment table. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course, Harrington, wouldn’t miss it,” Dustin grins.

He looks  _awake._ For the first time in months, he looks awake, eyes free of dark circles, tone not laced with a thick blanket of exhaustiveness.

Nothing would go away forever, and Steve still couldn’t smoke a cigarette right, probably never would again, but things were improving.

“I know,” Steve grins. “You’re the best little brother I’ve got.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! If you did, please leave a comment and/or kudos :) I love them!!

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, comments and kudos are much appreciated.


End file.
